


A Queen To Be

by Ramzes



Series: Targaryens: Times of Glory [17]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maekar Targaryen's death left the Seven Kingdoms in the hands of Aegon the Unlikely, loved by the smallfolk. He was peacefilly chosen at a Great Council. But the days and weeks following Maekar's death were all but peaceful. Not to Rhae Targaryen, anyway. A sequel to A Veil of Prophecy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The King took a deep breath. Everyone leaned over the bed intently, listening.

Something like a smile crossed his lips and he took two more breaths, shallow. Then, he exhaled and the silence in the tent became heavier, harsher.

Maekar Targaryen was dead.

Outside, everyone was waiting – the battle commanders, the lords, the men at-arms. They needed to know and they would… soon. But for now, no one wanted to disturb the peaceful resignation of the tent with talks and official mourning, and games of thrones. They all stood and watched the body, the face that had lost its entire colour, the crushed chest that was no longer moving. It was next to impossible to believe that he had held his own again a man as skilled as him but some twenty years younger for so long.

"Close his eyes," Ser Galend whispered.

Prince Aegon inclined further over his father and hesitated before closing the violet eyes, as bright in death as they had ever been in life. For a moment, he almost thought that Maekar would snap, "How dare you think I am dead?" But he didn't.

Ser Galend looked at the body and for a while, stared unblinkingly. He had been the King's oldest and closest friend. Now, he saw Maekar as he had been through the course of his life – a bright and promising boy, a skilled warrior and commander, a sad and embittered man, one whose life was full of regrets and anger at others and himself, one who was unfailingly loyal to those he held dear, one who always strove to do the right thing and very often ended up looking cold and unsympathetic while he was going it. And that had not exactly endeared him to everyone. Some had loved him, many more had loathed him, almost everyone had whispered the word "Kinslayer" behind his back. But no one had been indifferent to Maekar Targaryen.

Very few would ever know what Ser Galend felt instinctively to be true – that Maekar had entered his last combat knowing that he wouldn't win it but ready to give his life to give them victory. And he had given them this last gift.

"Rest in peace, my brave lord," Ser Galend said softly. "All who loved you are waiting for you, and they have missed you sorely. Rest in peace."

Duncan Targaryen silently wiped off the tears streaming down on his cheeks. "I am glad Haegon is dead," he said fiercely.

"So am I," Aegon said. Still, he hoped he wouldn't have to take a second look at the Blackfyre pretender's severed head that by now had been tarred and all to be transported to King's Landing and exposed at the gate of the Red Keep. He had seen it once and had been chilled to realize that Haegon looked just like Maekar in Aegon's childhood memories.

"Rest in peace," he murmured, looking at his father, knowing that Maekar might have peace, finally, but peace was the last thing that the very near future held for any of them.

* * *

_Three days later…_

In this cold, dark night, Princess Rhae could not fall asleep. The brazier in her bedroom could not warm her sufficiently but there was something wrong with the chimney, so the smoke was choking her, the bed felt too great without Aegon in it. For a while, she stood at the window, straining her eyes to see a raven from the battlefield, from Aegon. All she knew from his brief message was that they had won and that their father had taken a serious wound. _Serious, how serious? Is he going to recover? Is he going to stay alive at all?_ Maekar was no longer a young man and Rhae wasn't the little girl who had thought that her father was invincible and probably, immortal as well. She was desperate for news.

She shuddered, the cold suddenly freezing her to the bones. _Am I becoming like Aunt Aelinor,_ she wondered, remembering the late Queen, always cold and sitting in front of a roaring fire, and for the last twelve years, always waiting for Maekar to come back from a battle. _I don't want to spend my life waiting like this,_ Rhae thought but she knew it was not a matter of choice. _I hope the gods curse the Blackfyres to the seven hells._ She barely remembered the time when there hadn't been wars and rebellions, the time before her grandfather King Daeron died.

She wrapped a thick fur around her shoulders and left her chambers. There weren't any torches lit in the hallways but Rhae knew her way and moved confidently through the darkness.

Rhaelle stirred in her bed but she was always an active sleeper, not unlike Rhae herself. Sometimes, Aegon joked that he'd been wounded worse abed than at the battlefield. In his bedchamber, Jaehaerys was smiling in his sleep, his face very pale in the light of the candle-clock. Rhae wanted to go to him and feel his brow for one of the fevers he developed overnight but she knew he wouldn't appreciate it. Her son hated for anyone to pay attention to his ill health when he wasn't currently experiencing any symptoms. And anyway, he was twelve-year-old. Soon, his mother would have to learn to keep a certain distance, like she had done with Duncan.

Aemon opened his eyes briefly and murmured, "Mama" when she stood next to his bed. He was only four, young enough to want his mother nearby whenever she could stay. One day, he'd want to distance himself from her like Duncan had, like Jaehaerys had started to, and it would be only natural; but now, Rhae reached down and took him in her arms, carried him to the larger bed next to the opposite wall where she snuggled under the bedcovers. The warmth of the little body felt good. After a while, she fell asleep, holding the child to her.

All of a sudden, she was woken up by a maid. Seeing her concerned face and stuttered words, Rhae did not lose time asking questions – she just tucked Aemon in and put her robes on, along with the fur.

In the solar, two servants were fumbling with lighting a fire in the fireplace. Rhae immediately saw the tall silhouette near the window and recognized him – it was hard not to. She opened her mouth to start questioning him when Daella appeared, as disheveled and groggy as Rhae herself. Maybe even more – once again, she was with child. It seemed that she conceived in time with the rebellions. She was still early on and the child was drying her strength, so she was always tired.

As soon as Daella saw Ser Duncan, she woke up fully, just like Rhae had. He wouldn't look either of them in the eye.

"My father…?" said Rhae breathlessly.

He nodded. A sob cracked Daella's voice. Rhae looked down, feeling the tears stinging her eyes, leaving hot traces on her cheeks. The two of them clung to each other briefly, then got a grip over themselves and looked at Ser Duncan. "I was there when he died," he said softly. "Along with Aegon and Duncan. Ser Galend was also there, as well as your lord husband, Your Grace," he added to Daella. "He died peacefully. I could even say that whatever he saw in his last moments, it was something beautiful." He paused. "I traveled as fast as I could. There were all kinds of rumours where I passed but no one was certain of the King's demise. I certainly didn't tell the sentries or anyone here. But we must act quickly." He gave Rhae an intent look. "We must take you and your children to safety. Of course, the same is true for you, my lady," he told Daella and again turned to Rhae. "But you are the one who is in the greatest danger. With your father the King's death, your children are…"

"I know what my children are," Rhae interrupted. "We have a few hours, at best," she reasoned, trying to put grief aside, to concentrate on what was more important now. "There will be ravens, rumours. We can't stay here."

With her father's death in the middle of yet another rebellion, the succession was not a sure thing at all. There were too many powerful lords who'd try to use the situation to their own advantage. They might support Daeron's poor daughter or Aerion's infant son for the throne. There were even those who were still Blackfyre sympathizers. With Aegon and Daella's husband Alor Gargalen still at the battlefield, they were just two women, helpless to avoid what the lords had for them. Once Maekar's death was announced, the King's Hand would lose his authority and won't be able to offer them adequate protection. They still had the household knights and those who had been left to further ensure their safety but all that was very likely to be insufficient.

"Are we running away, Lady Mother?"

They all turned around. Jaehaerys stood in the doorframe, his slim frame shivering, for the fire still hadn't warmed the solar enough. His purple eyes were brimming with tears. His temper was the exact opposite of Maekar's but he had been spending much time with his grandfather. Maekar had even let him attend the meetings of the Small Council if he wished, as long as he kept quiet. The two of them had gotten along quite fine, to everyone's surprise. 

Next to him stood Alaenys Blackfyre, the captive from the previous rebellion. She, too, was shaking, her face betraying both cold and fear. She must have been roused by the murmur of the servants. Looking at her, Rhae briefly wondered whether she was pleased with Maekar's death. She might well be.

"No," she said. "No, we aren't. But we must leave the Red Keep, so no one could use us in the game of thrones against your father."

"So, we're running away," Jaehaerys concluded.

Rhae didn't have time to argue the point right now. "Go and pack up your things. Only the ones you'll need most. Tell Rhaelle to do the same. Alaenys, you too," she added. There was no way they were leaving a Blackfyre in the Red Keep, even one as young as Alaenys. They had to keep her at their side constantly.

She looked at Ser Duncan. "Where are Aegon and Alor sending us?"

He hesitated. "I am to accompany you to the Silent Sisters chapterhouse. They reasoned you'll be best protected there."

There was a glazed look in Rhae's eyes as she echoed, "The Silent Sisters," as if she had heard wrong.

Daella, though, realized the brilliance of the idea immediately. The Silent Sisters were universally feared. No one would dare touch them there. No lord would risk the Stranger's fury over an earthly matter like riches and a king's favor. The idea was pure genius, as frightening as it was to them.

"Is the chapterhouse far away from King's Landing, Lady Mother?" Jaehaerys asked.

Rhae shook her head. It was not far at all – just two days ride away. A lifetime away.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two days later…_

The chapterhouse of the silent sisters was easily as big as Baelor's Sept and occupied an entire block of the small town. But that was the whole resemblance Rhae could find. It was not nearly as magnificent as the religious centre of the Faith of the Seven. It was rough and grey, and unappealing like the robes of its inhabitants.

"There are no windows here," Rhaelle whispered.

"There might be some inside," her mother said. The prospect that they might find themselves raising seven children in a place where the sunlight did not enter was too terrible to contemplate.

It was icy cold and at leaving the small wheelhouse with no signs on it, they all pulled their cloaks tighter around themselves. Ser Duncan sighed with relief – a wheelhouse was too short for a man of his stature and it felt good to be able to rise to his full height.

"Go there," Rhae said and he went up and knocked on the door. Nothing happened at first and he knocked again, more vigorously. Finally, a window in the upper part of the door opened and a cowled face appeared, the only visible part being the eyes.

"Her Grace Princess Rhae Targaryen desires entrance," Ser Duncan said.

He really meant it to sound like a plea, yet Rhae had known him long enough to realize that when he wanted to sound serious, the timbre of his voice and indeed his very frame made his tone too peremptory; she looked at Jaehaerys and saw the same fears on his pale, fair face. Quickly, she gathered her skirts and approached the door herself.

When she came near, she saw that the silent sister was very, very young indeed – the small patch of skin visible inside her veil was perfectly smooth, and her grey eyes were wide open, stunned at the thought of meeting such fine visitors. Not a hint of wrinkles. Rhae was looking at a girl, not much older than her own daughter. It was hardly unlikely that she was even a silent sister yet. Probably a girl given to the chapterhouse by a starving family with no means to feed another mouth. Or someone who had angered their father and had been sent here as a punishment. Rhae gestured at Ser Duncan to step aside and said more pleasantly, "Good day to you, holy sister. I am Princess Rhae Targaryen, daughter of our King, may he rest in peace, as you might have heard."

The girl certainly had. By now, the rumours had abounded and despite all the variations, Maekar's death was the only constant in them.

"My sister and I beg permission to enter and pray to the Stranger to welcome him."

This much was true. Rhae intended to pray fervently that her father found peace in death as he never had in life. The Seven knew that they would have too much time and too little to occupy themselves with.

She definitely felt that the girl was about to say something but at the last moment, remembered the rules she had to observe, so she only nodded and disappeared, leaving the window open. Rhaelle immediately tried to peek in and see what was inside; Rhae flicked her away. Daella shook her head. Rhae knew her sister had never lost control with her own children and hoped, quite unsavory, that when they grew older, Daella would, just once. She simply couldn't be _this_ perfect.

After a few minutes, another cowled face appeared and nodded in greeting.

"May the Seven keep you, Sister," Rhae said. "I am…"

The woman nodded again, quite impatiently. Rhae had no trouble reading the words the sister would not say aloud. _I know who you are._

The silent sister pointed at Rhae and then inside, invitingly. Then, she gestured at Ser Duncan and the others and shook her head. _You can come in but your attendants must stay outside._

Rhae hesitated. On the one hand, it would be easier to lay her plea out without having to keep all the children in check; on the other, though… everyone knew that the King was dead and both as a princess born and Aegon's wife, she'd make a fine hostage for anyone waiting inside.

"Very well," she said, putting aside the cowardly little voice of doubt. "All of you, go back into the wheelhouse. Don't take your cloaks off. I'll be back as soon as I'm finished here."

Ser Duncan opened his mouth to protest but Daella caught his eye and firmly shook her head. Reluctantly, Rhaelle headed back for the wheelhouse. Jaehaerys purposefully waited for her to enter before following in.

The door slowly opened and Rhae made the few steps that separated her from what turned out to be a well tended garden – a glass garden, actually. It was neat and pleasing to the eye in its arranged simplicity but the Princess immediately saw that there were no flowers there, just herbs. The walls were grey stone, unrelieved by any splash of colour but they did look like they kept the cold at bay.

There were indeed no windows and Rhae fought the feeling that she was coming short of air while she was walking down the long hallways lit up by torches placed at equal spaces. The private parlor, or maybe study, where the head of the chapterhouse received her, was just as cold and fuctional – warm and windowless, with chairs and benches comfortable enough but without upholstery. The woman herself was seated in a chair against the furthest wall, wrapped in her grey robes, but the light of the fireplace cast a glow over her eyes; at seeing them, Rhae immediately realized she had a wily and formidable adversary to deal with.

"May the Seven keep you, Reverend Mother," she said.

The woman gave a regal nod. Was she trying to teach Rhae humility? Rhae's Targaryen blood roared in her veins but she forbade it to rise to her face. They needed the silent sisters. She would not put her children and herself at risk just because of a small stab to her pride.

"The Stranger saw fit to take His Grace, my father, to him," she said, choosing her words carefully. "As you might know."

The veil gave the other woman the advantage of being able to hide her expression. As much as Rhae was trying to read it, that was impossible. Ser Duncan had said that by the time they arrived, Aegon would have negotiated their accommodation with the sisters, that they wouldn't be turned away. But if that was so, why was the woman so cold and hostile? Might it be that they had not come to terms?

"There will be some turmoil, Reverend Mother," she said, bluntly. The woman's eyes widened slightly and Rhae smiled inwardly, certain that she had stricken the proper cord. _Let her know that we need her. Let her feel superior. It's a small price to pay._ "My brothers' untimely deaths left us without an uncontested heir and there will be too many who would only be glad to use the occasion to further their own ambitions."

The woman inclined her head. She had yet to offer Rhae refreshments. The gesture of her pale thin hand, pointing at Rhae and then going up inquiringly was, in its own way, as blunt as Rhae's own words. _And you have no ambitions of your own?_

"My ambition, as well as my husband's, is only to do what is best for the Seven Kingdoms," Rhae said. "But I am but a mere woman. Prince Aegon knows more about these things than I do. I am only seeking protection for my children against those who might wish to do them harm. And my sister, Princess Daella, is with child. She needs a place where she can carry her babe undisturbed and there is no better place for that than the chapterhouse of the silent sisters."

The veil moved slightly. Was that a smile? If it was, was it scornful?

"We are just women and children in a sad plea, Reverend Mother," Rhae persisted. It had been but sixteen years since she last humiliated herself so, in the times when she and Aegon wandered around the Seven Kingdoms, exiled by their family but still too valuable to them, dependent on mere lords and knights and always in hiding. Now she didn't care half as much. She'd gladly kneel to the woman and wipe her shoes with her famed silvery hair if that meant that her children would receive sanctuary. "The entire Westeros would be better off if we're safely away from anyone looking for an advantage against all others."

The woman indicated the chamber and by this, the whole chapterhouse. "I don't know," Rhae said honestly. "I really think that no one would dare break sanctuary. I wish I could guarantee that you won't suffer any harm for taking us in but I truly don't know."

Should she add that one day, the sisters would be rewarded accordingly for shielding them? They would. Yet, looking at the austere surroundings, Rhae decided that it would be better not to mention it.

The brown eyes under heavy eyelids looked at her with something like approval. The nimble hands started moving once more, imitating weaving, cooking and… Rhae did not want to think what the last gesture was. Her gorge rose.

A long finger pointed at her. "Yes, Reverend Mother," she said. "Yes, of course. We will work for our upkeep. We'll try our hardest not to be a burden."

After a pause that seemed endless to Rhae, the silent sister rang a small bell that the Princess had not noticed. A few minutes later, another veiled silhouette entered with a plate of pulled figs and a teapot. The Reverend Mother reached up and took her veil down. Her face was as smooth as a girl's, although she might be forty and more. At the moment, Rhae did not care to find out more, she was just too relieved that they had found shelter and that they wouldn't spend the next weeks and months in the company of veiled facelessness.

As soon as they had had their tea, she excused herself and went back to the wheelhouse. Daella and Ser Duncan looked at her inquiringly and she nodded. "Come on," she told the children. "We are going in. And I want all of you to behave and not to speak. I am serious. Just a word, and you'll regret it."

Rhaelle rolled her eyes. Jaehaerys barely stopped himself from doing the same. Rhae's older children felt something like respectful curiosity for the moments when their mother flew into a rage.

Daella gathered her skirts and the two youngest children – her own son and Aerion's boy, both under two years. Alaenys Blackfyre reached out to take the closer boy from her and wrapped him tighter in his furs. Ser Duncan coughed. "Your Grace," he said. "Prince Aegon ordered that Jaehaerys was not to go with you."

Rhae whirled about. "What?"

"Jaehaerys is to join his father," the huge knight said.

She went pale. Let Jaehaerys roam the dangerous roads with only a single knight to keep him safe? And now, when it was so cold?

"No," she replied. "Jaehaerys is to stay with me."

"Lady Mother," the boy said. "If Father said that he needs me there…"

She whirled on him. "Your father isn't here. I am. And I am saying that I need you here with us…"

The wind was blowing cold and ice in their faces bur Rhae's fear burned so hot that it chased the chill. "No," she said again. "It's too dangerous."

"My Princess," Ser Duncan said. "Listen to reason. Jaehaerys' being here places you in danger and it also places him in danger. If he is here, certain lords might be more prone to taking actions."

Actions. Breaking sanctuary. Taking them by force. As a mother of a girl and an infant son Rhae was in no immediate danger herself and neither was Daella. But Jaehaerys was almost grown up. A son of the late King's son. He was in the succession. He was more valuable than his mother and sister. Far more valuable than his aunt. He could place everyone in danger just by being here. And of course, he'd be in danger himself. With Aegon, he'd be protected. Of course, if he succeeded in reaching Aegon…

She took a deep breath. "Very well," she said. "Dress warmly. Don't drink anything cold if you can avoid it. And for the Mother's sake, keep your hair covered."

Jaehaerys nodded. "I will, Lady Mother," he said and embraced her – something that of late, he was quite averse to doing. Then, he hugged Rhaelle and his aunt, smiled at Alaenys and ruffled the boys' hair. Aemon tried to cling to him but Jaehaerys carefully pried him off and gave him to Rhae.

"I'll see you soon," he said, sounding very confident.

Rhae looked at Ser Duncan in a silent plea. "I'll do my best to keep him safe, my lady," the huge knight said.

With heavy heart, Rhae watched the wheelhouse lumber away, carrying her son to a future she could not predict. When it disappeared behind the curve of the road, she turned, took Aemon by the hand and led the way to the dreary building.


	3. Chapter 3

_Later in the same day…_

The rooms they were given were hardly worthy to being called that – they were more like a cells, given the fact that two women, two young girls, and three children were expected to share them. Daella immediately heaved herself on the narrow bed meant for her and closed her eyes. Rhae busied herself with putting the boys to sleep in the three small beds. Rhaelle and Alaenys came to help her and the children fell asleep the moment their heads hit the pillows.

Rhae looked around. The two chambers were small, whitewashed and furnished only with beds, two tables with chairs, and a few cupboards. She felt a profound relief for the relative safety they offered. She wanted to follow her sister's lead, fall asleep and wake up a few years later. Right now, she was so weary that it seemed like a real possibility.

Rhaelle, however, was wide awake – and indignant. "It will be so crowded here!" she exclaimed, looking at the perfectly clean room as if it was a stable. No, she had never given the royal stables such a look. "I won't even have a room of my own?"

Rhae gave her a level look. "I don't like it either but we'll have to do. Two rooms, that's what we have."

"But there are no windows here!" the girl insisted. "Do we really have to stay?"

Rhae started making her bed. "No," she replied, "I dragged you all the way here just so I could cackle about it. Of course we have to stay! Do you have any idea how ungrateful you sound? The sisters are giving us shelter and I won't have you forget it!"

Rhaelle looked down guiltily. Her mother sighed. Once, she had not been so different. Now she could understand Aegon's frustration when she had expressed any displeasure at the various living conditions they found themselves after their elopement and banishment from the family. Rhaelle simply didn't know anything different that wealth and luxury.

Alaenys was already making another bed. She was a quiet one, the little Blackfyre girl. Of course, she wasn't really so little, just a year younger than Rhaelle but sometimes Rhae felt that Alaenys was years older. Age was not only physical, it was also what had been experienced, suffered, endured. For all the treatment they gave Alaenys, as if she were a protégée of the family, in reality she was a war trophy and she'd never let herself forget it, for the world would not. Rhaelle had lived a much more sheltered life.

"If we open the doors a few times a day, there will be some fresh air coming in," Alaenys now said and Rhae gave her a look of approval. No one said that they'd need to keep some candles lit the entire day. It was evident.

"I suggest that you both go to sleep," Rhae ordered. "We have traveled without stopping and we're tired. And tomorrow, we'll have to start working to earn our stay here. I want all of us to be rested. It'll be a hard day, I fear."

Her daughter started fumbling in her bags for her nightgown and didn't find it.

"You can take mine, Princess," Alaenys offered.

Rhaelle looked at her, stunned. "You want me to put on a garment that belongs to someone else?"

"When I was just a few years older than you, I often slept in sheets that had been used by complete strangers before," Rhae snapped, her patience finally worn out. "Stop putting on airs and go to bed already."

It seemed that there was something wild in her eyes because Rhaelle obeyed without questions. Sometimes it helped to be the scary mother. The Seven knew that Aegon could never be the scary father, and to Rhaelle least of all. All in all, the girl knew only adoration from her father and grandfather, so _someone_ had to anchor her to reality. Rhae's eyes suddenly filled with tears at remembering that Maekar had never raised his voice at _her_ , although he had done it quite often with her brothers. To her, he had been the most kind and attentive father there was. The thought that she'd never see him again, that her world would go on without him ailed her like an illness to the body. The fact that he had been rash, bitter, harsh, and too lofty was of no meaning to her.

"I think I'd like to learn how to tend a garden of herbs," Rhaelle murmured – the closest thing to apology that she could bring herself to offer.

Rhae nodded and fell asleep the moment she smelled her bed, although she had been sure that her concerns would not let her rest this night.

* * *

_Two days later…_

The inn was filled with the usual noise of many conversations, clattering of goblets, and hollering for more food. In one corner, a company of well-clad men loudly talked about the new situation that had arisen with the King's death and finally claimed that something like that should have been expected because a kinslayer's curse might come delayed but always came and in this case, the entire kingdom shared this punishment.

Jaehaerys' face remained impassive but when Ser Duncan pushed the bench a little back to gain more room for his long legs, he saw the young prince's hands under the table: they were opening and closing, opening and closing, and it was clear that Jaehaerys very much disagreed with this interpretation of the events but thankfully, he did not open his mouth as his father had done some twenty years ago. Ser Duncan, though, was not at all certain that it would not happen at any given moment and he'd rather avoid it. They hadn't dyed the boy's hair brown only to have him reveal himself with a hasty word.

The young innkeeper looked at Ser Duncan – all seven feet of him – and whistled, clearly impressed. He grinned at her and lowered his voice to Jaehaerys, "If it wasn't for you, I'd sit her on my knee and have a good time."

"Please, Ser, go on with it. I wouldn't ever think to thwart you."

The tension of the last few days was taking its toll even on Jaehaerys' kind temper. Ser Duncan decided not to press the matter further. He had to save his patience for the next time when the boy would stick his head out of the window of the wheelhouse despite Aegon's explicit orders that his son was not to show himself anywhere before the two travelers reached him.

Now the conversation turned to the turmoil at King's Landing. Ser Duncan was saddened but not surprised to hear that the King's Hand had lost not only his authority but his very life in the riots that had bathed the capital in blood. Each lord who had not gone with the army – and some who had – wanted to sit in the temporary Council that needed to be assembled until the next King became clear. And they were ready to chase their ambition at the cost of death, blood, and tears.

Not that any if it mattered. The only important thing now was to deliver Jaehaerys safely to his father, so he listened to the conversations, hoping to get wind whether Prince Aegon had stayed with the army or had headed for another castle. At their separation, he had assured Ser Duncan that he'd be with the main body of the army but many things changed, especially in the aftermath of a rebellion or a royal death. _And now we have both…_ Now, each face looked ominous. Each man they met could have a dark task that they were ready to fulfill. Ser Duncan hadn't slept for more than three hours in a row ever since the King died.

Suddenly, there was a great clamour outside. While Ser Duncan was trying to decide whether he should unsheathe his sword or not to risk attract unwanted attention, the air filled with horses whinnying and startled dogs howling. The door was thrown open and in thundered no less than thirty men, bare steel in their hands.

"Where is he, where?" they were shouting. "Where has he hidden himself?"

They started walking between the tables, overturning goblets, pushing plates to the floor and staring intently at the face of every man. The well-clad company tries to protest but the bare blades provided an excellent persuasive influence, so every disagreement was quickly shut up.

"Where is the Dornish bastard?" the men were shouting. "He must answer to us. We know he's here, we followed his wheelhouse…"

Alor Gargalen. They were looking for the Dornish lord, not Jaehaerys. Ser Duncan barely had time to sigh with relief when he realized, horrified, that the boy had also understood… and was angry. Before Ser Duncan could stop him, he rose.

"I am Jaehaerys Targaryen," he cried, "and I was the one traveling with the wheelhouse you saw. I don't like it when people break so noisily in any place where I am!"

The intruders had no idea that the Prince was no longer with his lady mother and the news stunned them into silence. Anything could happen in this realm, nowadays.

"Will you tell me who you are?" Jaehaerys asked again. "I talk only to people who hved been presented to me and you'll excuse me if I say I don't think we've ever met."

"I am Lord Georgan Golden Oak," the leader said. "And these are Lord Caral Green Stream, Lord Eddard White Thorn, and Ser Henrit Sharal. We're looking for Alor Gargalen…"

"Oh! So, you're knights then?" Jaehaerys interrupted. "I wouldn't believe it for the world. I thought knights were supposed to protect those who were weaker than them, not scare them off and ruin honest innkeepers' business. I am ashamed for you. Look at the mirror. Are you not ashamed of yourselves?"

At this, there came a certain feeling of uneasiness among the intruders. They had hoped to lay their hands on the late King's Dornish goodson who had had much sway with Maekar and had received offices and honours that should go to true Westerosi nobles alone, not Dornishmen and not bastards. While Maekar had been alive, his iron fist had kept the Dornishman safe; when the King was no longer around, there was nothing to stop the hatred of the disgruntled from bursting forth.

The boy, however, was another matter. He was Targaryen. Prince Aegon's son. King Maekar's grandson. Whoever came to sit the Iron Throne at the end would not hesitate to punish everyone responsible for causing Jaehaerys Targaryen the smallest unease. Lord White Thorn remembered that he had seen him about a year ago when the King had granted him an audience. He assured the Prince that no one meant him any harm, that they only sought to bring the Dornish bastard to justice. Ser Duncan quickly stepped on Jaehaerys' foot, lest the boy started defending his uncle's honour.

After a brief consultation, the rebels made Jaehaerys and Ser Duncan go back into the wheelhouse where they were promptly joined by another current trophy and potential bargaining tool for negotiations with a powerful House – the young son of the dead Hand, a boy slightly younger than Jaehaerys and sick for weeks with fever. Ser Duncan prayed that the Prince would not catch the ailment. Jaehaerys was trying to foresee their captor's next movement. The armed men surrounding the wheelhouse were sure that this new twist would let them reach Prince Aegon and talk to him in person.

The night lay, starry and beautiful, and from time to time the full moon turned red before Jaehaerys' eyes, reflecting the flames of the many castles of nobles and houses of smallfolk that disgruntled lords and common brigands had set afire just because they could.


	4. Chapter 4

_Two days later…_

"Where are we?" Ronnel Tyrrell asked for about a fifth time in the last two hours.

"We are travelling," Jaehaerys said calmly and sat next to him on the seat bench, pointedly ignoring Ser Duncan's warning look.

"Where are we going?" the other boy inquired further.

"We are being brought to my father," Jaehaerys explained.

"Your father? But the Prince is at war…"

By now, Ser Duncan could recite the conversation word for word. Now, the boy would ask whoever was taking them to the Prince and how the King might be dead, and then remember that his own father was dead and scream in horror as he remembered the scene. Then, he'd fall asleep and in a few hours it would start all over again.

Jaehaerys supported the younger boy's head while he drank some water, then eased him down. Ronnel fell into uncomfortable sleep and Jaehaerys looked at Ser Duncan. "Are we going to leave?" he asked and reached for the door-handle. The knight stayed his hand. "Don't look, Jaehaerys," he said.

The curtains of the windows were dropped. The horses whinnied. Outside, someone was screaming and begging for mercy. One of the villagers who had tried to stop the rebels from plundering their village. Ser Duncan had seen the brigand lords breaking the villagers' legs while Jaehaerys had been tending the sick boy. In any other case, he would have intervened on the villagers behalf but now he had Jaehaerys to reckon with. He couldn't take the risk; a few times he had already stopped Jaehaerys from saying something out of fear that these lizards' anger might turn out against the boy. He had to deliver Jaehaerys to his father safe. How, he didn't know.

At last, finally, the wheelhouse lumbered ahead.

* * *

_A day later…_

Rhaelle's fingernails went dirty and broken before the first day was over; till the end of the second, she decided that there was no way to keep her newly given grey robes clean in the garden, so she just left them drag in the dirt. A silent sister patiently showed her and Alaenys how to tend to the herbs in the glass garden, demonstrating no temper even when the girls destroyed in quick succession a whole row of chamomile, thinking that they were just plucking some rotten roots. Her silence scared the Princess a little, especially when the woman answered to Rhaelle's question as briefly as possible. At the end of the second day, Rhaelle could water the plants without drowning them and actually say bad leaves from those who were just naturally yellow-coloured; with some fear, she realized that she had started adopting their hostesses' custom of not talking when she could not talk. She and Alaenys did not speak much even with each other, even when alone. They were getting used to their new environment so fast that it scared Rhaelle.

Rhae was charged with keeping the first floor of the convent clean. In a few moments, her hands remembered how a broom should be hold and little Aemon was stunned when he saw his mother sweeping the floor with wet rags. Rhaelle's mouth actually gaped when she saw Rhae kneeling on front of a fireplace, sweeping it. Her hair was full of ash, her hands raw and red, and singed. Physical effort was welcome to her because it distracted her from thinking about Aegon – and Jaehaerys. Besides, when she was away from their rooms, she could weep silently for her father without awakening the others' grief anew. When she was away – and when she was in her bed at night, her head buried against the pillow.

Daella was just in that period of her pregnancy when even rising to pour herself a goblet of water was too exhausting, so she sew and embroidered for poor people – and tried to take care of three little boys who were too inquisitive for their own good at each opportunity and constantly tried to explore their new surroundings, only to be returned back to their rooms by stony-faces silent sisters. They didn't scold them but the mute reproach in their demeanor was enough to make the little ones scared. Daella was trying to show then that all was well but they could pick up her concern and that made them worry without realizing it, thus making them even more insufferable. And insufferable they were, thorn away from all they knew, thorn in a stark place and surrounded by grim strangers. They were now prone to fits of anger and crying… and Daella was prone to those, too, discomforted by the pregnancy, scared for all of them and grieving for her father, and unsure what future would bring to them. Her oldest followed Rhaelle and Alaenys like a shadow and felt hurt when they told him to get off. When they got together at the evening meal, no one had the heart to say anything. And there would have been no use of that, anyway. Such were the spirits in their sanctuary…

Alaenys was constantly reminded of her life at home, at the war camp that was the Golden Company. True, there were no rough soldiers here and she did not need to pass through the hallways as fast as she could out of fear of meeting a group of drunken and lewd men but the airs of the silent sisters were not so different from the airs of men in a war camp. She didn't fear them, exactly, but their cold deportment made her blood curdle. If they decided that the chapterhouse would be better off if they left the Princesses and the children into the hands of the first enemy of the Targaryens who knocked at the door, they would do it. So she found solace in working at the kitchens and glass garden and from time to time, talking secretly to Princess Rhaelle. Why secretly, they couldn't say. They weren't explicitly forbidden to speak. But this was the way here and the sisters' conduct somehow showed that no other possibility was acceptable.

She felt a little nice stir of warmth in the night, when, thinking that they were all asleep, Princess Rhae checked on everyone. She leaned closer, tucked them in and placed a kiss on their temples. The first time she did it with Alaenys, the girl almost opened her eyes, showing that she was, in fact, awake. Her mother had died in childbed when she had seen only two namedays and she didn't know what it felt like to get a kiss for goodnight.

* * *

_Five days later…_

In the falling darkness, Harrenhall looked even greater – and more crumbling. A piece of ruin, a place of death. Jaehaerys almost looked up for the first Aegon's dragon, coming to bring destruction upon the remains of Harrenhall – and all of them. Not that there were so many of them still. On their way here, the stream of lords and knights who had been so keen on extracting riches and privileges from his father in exchange of him had been steadily declining – some were sick, others were suddenly called on urgent family business, third needed to pay attention on their own affairs. But those who left were still numerous – and they were the most determined ones.

In front of the main gate the wheelhouse stopped. Straining their hearing for the opening of the gate, Jaehaerys and Ser Duncan heard nothing. From the walls, the guards called out the standard question of who was there but got no answer.

The sickly boy and the huge knight exchanged a look. On their way here, they had heard all sorts of rumours about the fate of the treacherous Lothstons who had betrayed their rightful King and joined the Blackfyres in their latest rebellion. It seemed that the very first thing Prince Aegon had done after his father drew his last breath was to honour the dead King's promise to his troops, made before the battle: the Lothston line had been extinguished, that much was ascertained. Rumours differed only by the details of which this was achieved. Jaehaerys did not give much credence to the claims of tortures and cruel deaths but it seemed that his cordial father had shown surprising ruthlessness in dealing with the aftermath of the Rebellion, this winning himself quite the reputation. He was not someone who could be easily trifled with – and the rebellious lords could hardly get rid of Jaehaerys to keep the secret of taking him as a prisoner. Someone would tell. Someone always told.

Maybe their best bet was leave now, while they still could, and take Jaehaerys as a hostage.

In the pale moonlight and dancing shadows of people hesitating and dragons from the past looming all over the place, the Prince and Ser Duncan were trying to determine _their_ best bet.

"Do you really believe my father is here?" Jaehaerys asked in a low voice.

"I think he is," Ser Duncan said. "But I… I am not sure."

Jaehaerys wasn't either. But waiting for their captors to do something was absolutely the last thing he needed to do. Even making a mistake was better than doing nothing. He opened the door and poked his head out. "What's wrong, my lords?" he asked. "I thought you wanted the Prince to address your grievances, or maybe to make things clear with the Master of the ships. Could it be that your courage deserted you at finding yourselves so close to them?"

The not so veiled insult made the men cringe. They could not take the risk to harm the sickly abomination, of course. He looked as if he couldn't even take a single whipping. They could turn their horses and go back, forcing Jaehaerys to accompany them. Or… they could prove this insolent Targaryen spawn that he was wrong and they did not fear his father _or_ the Dornish bastard.

They opted for the latter.

"We're bringing Jaehaerys Targaryen to his father," one of the loud-mouthed ones called. "We're seeking an audience with Prince Aegon."

Now that he was looking outside, Jaehaerys realized that the number of guards who manned the wall was too scanty. If the entire Targaryen army was sheltered between the walls, why weren't the gates better guarded? The brigand lords started muttering and looking around alarmed, arguing what they should do now. Was this a trap? But the gate was already opening and after their pronouncement no one would let them just leave with Jaehaerys without giving a chase, so they entered and dismounted.

Many times, Jaehaerys had imagined his reunion with his father, brother, and grandfather. After the news of Maekar's death he had started picturing his meeting with his father and Duncan alone. Neither image had included the chaos of an inheritance crisis and arriving as a captive to someone's ambitions and thwarted expectations.

Prince Aegon stood in the great hall of Harrenhall – and it was a great one, about five times bigger than the chamber holding the Iron Throne. He was magnificently attired in Targaryen red and black, the cloak with dragons clasped at his shoulder. He had his arms folded and his face set in a hard expression that very few had seen. Next to him, Duncan looked equally grim. At the head of a long table, Jaehaerys' uncle Aemon smiled reassuringly at him.

Jaehaerys went to his father and spoke. "Father, Ronnel Tyrell needs help. He's been with fever for days and the way these lords dragged us this way and that was not much of a help."

"I'll send my own maester immediately," Aegon assured him and looked at a servant who left hurriedly. Then, he looked at the lords and smiled. It was not his usual friendly smile – it was something colder and more distant, something that Jaehaerys didn't like at all. Against the far wall, servants were taking hangings with the Lothston bat down and replacing it with the Targaryen dragons. "So, my lords," he said. His tone was all amicability, his eyes – pieces of purple ice. "I think it's time for us to talk."


	5. Chapter 5

"Jaehaerys," Aegon said. "Sit down. Or would you rather go up and rest?"

"You can share my room," Duncan readily intervened. "I think the bed is made already…"

The thought of a soft bed was so appealing. Still, Jaehaerys shook his head and went to the table where he sat next to his uncle. Ser Duncan looked at Aegon inquiringly; the Prince nodded and the huge knight joined him for a few hasty words.

Duncan joined his brother and uncle and pushed a goblet toward Jaehaerys. The younger boy gave him a suspicious look. For a while, Duncan had been saying that it was about time for his brother to get drunk for a first time… It was just clear water, though, and it was not until Jaehaerys drank deeply that he realized how dry his mouth was.

Aegon looked at the newcomers once more. "Well, my lords," he said. "It seems that you've just rewritten the code for knightly values. Is this what you consider fulfilling your vow to protect the innocent – attacking my young son and the Hand's son who's even younger when you outnumbered them – what? Fifty to one? Or was it a hundred? Was it the way you thought you could force my hand into doing… what exactly? I am still unaware as to that. Would you like to have this done to your sons when they are at their most vulnerable? Come on! Speak! Tell me what explanation you have for your misdeeds that I shall see you punished for!"

The rebels pushed Lord White Thorn forward. "Speak! Tell him what you should!"

The man looked less than happy being placed into the heart of the situation. He coughed and tried to put his thoughts together. He had talked, cursed, accused, and incited his fellow malcontents that he had never stopped to think just how they would present their claims to those who had authority to make changes. "Well, Your Grace, we want to know…" he started hoarsely. "We want to know whether you'd finally remove the bastard from the Small Council and stop the abysmal privileges given to foreigners, restoring the customs from the first Daeron's time…"

Aegon's face was stony. From the shadows surrounding the door a slender silhouette appeared. A few people hissed and one even cursed at recognizing the olive face and straight hair of the very man they had chased, the hated Dornishman whom a woman's love had raised so high, making him one of the greatest lords in Westeros despite being bastard-born.

Alor Gargalen stopped a little behind the Prince. A small smile came to his lips. Was this disdain or amusement? "I imagine you mean me," he spoke, his Dornish accent suddenly more pronounced.

Some of the men gave him dark stares. Others stepped back. "That's right," Lord White Thorn snarled and turned back to Aegon. "Your Grace," he said. "I beg you not to tolerate any more the effrontery of a foreign bastard even if he is wed to your lady sister. It isn't Dorne here. _We_ will not stand for it."

Aegon's smile was suddenly mischievous, that of a child knowing something that the others did not know. "He is wed to my sister," he agreed. The rebels were clearly reminded that Alor Gargalen's interests were Princess Daella's interests, too, and so they were a family obligation to the Prince. They got the hint and stopped with the disparaging etiquettes. "We are against appointing foreigners to the Small Council," Lord White Thorn said, more mildly this time.

Prince Aegon raised an eyebrow. "Appointing the members of the Small Council has always been a prerogative of the King's," he said. "Alor Gargalen was appointed by His Grace my late father."

Aegon was a good and just man but he was not a stranger to the famous Targaryen pride when he felt offended or his hand being forced. Aemon opened his mouth to smooth the tension but the much maligned Dornish bastard beat him to it. "In all my deeds, I have always been guided by the thought of the good of Westeros," he declared. "My office was given to me by the King of the Seven Kingdoms and, of course, it is his to take away."

The brazenness of his words actually made a few jaws drop but of course, he was right. The only way they could get rid of him and have his office given to someone of their choosing, someone who knew how things in Westeros should be dome would be to appeal to the King… when there came to be one, that was it. And out of the two men who were most likely to end up in power at the end of all that, neither was too sympathetic to their plea.

Taking the Targaryen boy captive had been a big mistake. Bringing him here, to his father, had been even a bigger one.

Aemon Targaryen rose calmly and joined his brother and goodbrother. The candlelight made his hair fairer and his maester's robe darker. He did not cut an imposing figure, by any means, yet when he spoke, everyone fell silent.

"So, my lords," he spoke. "You've come here discontented. Ah well, so are we. We are also discontented," he said again and gave them a mild, yet firm look. No doubt his discontent included his nephew being dragged about as a war trophy and valuable hostage. "And if we all turn obstinate, there is no way for any of us to win. Only people who can't think resort to violence… And we'd rather avoid it if we can."

 _Why are they so silent,_ Jaehaerys wondered. What was it in his plain, softly spoken uncle that evoked such reverence? They had been ready to tear his father apart if they could but to Aemon, they listened. Why was that?

"If my brother wished to punish you for your wrongdoings, he might do it very easily," Aemon went on. "Lord White Thorn, would you have a look at the window? Tell me what you see. Do you see any opportunity for you to escape?"

Jaehaerys almost rose to have a look as well but his brother caught his eye and shook his head. "They cannot escape," Duncan mouthed.

By the cries that erupted, the malcontents obviously thought the same. Aemon waited for the noise to abate, then shook his head. "There's no need for such worry," he said. "I told you, we want to avoid any violence, so I plead with my brother not to draw arms against you. Right, Aegon?"

Aegon nodded silently.

 _It's his soft voice,_ Jaehaerys suddenly realized. His uncle's voice would not carry well if he lifted it. But Aemon didn't even try to lift it. He kept it low and even, thus making everyone to strain to hear what he was saying. And that, naturally, prevented _them_ from talking and raging. Besides, the fast switch from courtesies to threats and back confused them, made them more uncertain. Jaehaerys looked at Aemon with admiration.

"By the law, the only one who can strip a member of the Small Council from his office is the King," Aemon said. "So I suggest you wait until we have one and then address your grievances to him. Why do you feel the matter is so urgent? I wouldn't like to think that you'd use His Grace's death to bathe Westeros in blood."

They rushed to assure him that it was not the case and then Jaehaerys suddenly felt the fatigue claiming him so forcefully that the hall blurred before him. The voices grew in a loud mass of noise; he could barely keep his eyes open. The sound of the rebels leaving about an hour later almost made him jump and rose him somewhat; Duncan told him that their uncle had achieved as much as what could be reasonably expected and even more. "They agreed to wait until we have a King to plead their imaginary grievances in front of," he said. "And Father agreed not to raise any Dornishmen to higher ranks until the matter is settled. In exchange, they'll stop acting against our uncle Alor and the established court. Are you hungry?"

Jaehaerys shook his head. Aegon came near and looked at him with the entire concern he had had to conceal from the malcontents. "How are you, truly?" he asked.

The boy smiled. "I am fine," he said. "Truly."

Aegon nodded. "Good," he said and looked at his brother. "You saved us. I couldn't have been this patient."

"Oh yes, you could," Aemon snapped. For some reason, he seemed angry now. "It's just that you couldn't be bothered because you knew I wad here and _I_ would be patient for you."

Aegon looked stung. Aemon went on. "All I did was win us a brief reprieve. The times of Daeron the First… They have already starting getting me bored with these times of Daeron… They make it sound as if Grandfather never lived. Each time there is a great king trying to steer us forward, there are always those who fight tooth and nail to push us back in the darkness. But I'm afraid worse is yet to come. The great Houses still hadn't thrown their support behind anyone. And _we_ aren't sure whom we support."

"I heard that there is already a faction. The Blackwoods are trying to ingratiate themselves with the great Houses and the talk is that they're trying to assume important offices in the name of Prince Rhaegar," Ser Duncan said and heaved himself at the table. Now, when it was all over, he looked as tired as Jaehaerys felt.

"When did you hear this?" the boy asked. "Why didn't I hear?"

"You were busy with the Tyrell boy," Ser Duncan said and closed his eyes. "By the Seven, now I can almost see sense in your custom to marry brother to sister," he said, opened his eyes and stared at Aegon and Aemon. "Aerion is dead but he'll keep giving us hard time from wherever he is… Have you thought of supporting the girl?"

"No," Aegon said. "So, the Blackwoods will try to use the fact that Aerion's heir was born to one of theirs?" He looked at Alor. "What, has she even tried to see the boy after she left?"

Alor shook his head. "According to Daella, she was only too happy to leave Rhaegar in our care. Only the Seven know what your brother did to the poor girl to make her run like this as soon as she had the chance." And then he smiled. "A raven came just when Jaehaerys did. The Blackwoods indeed tried to gather support but they need coin. They are exhausting their reserves in bribes and payments, so they tried to be granted permission to take over the treasury… it seems that there are still two members of the Small Council at King's Landing."

"Well, what's so funny about that?" Aegon wondered. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because that's where our old friend Ser Galend stepped in. Remember that your lord father gave him some papers, duly signed and sealed but with nothing written in?"

Jaehaerys' was stunned. That was a major mistake he had never considered his grandfather capable of making. Alor went on, "So now Ser Galend holds the treasury, it seems. By your father's command, obviously. And he has vowed to burn it down, coins and jewels and all, if the Blackwoods dare set foot within twenty miles of King's Landing."

This time, Jaehaerys' jaw dropped. Aegon started laughing. "No wonder my father loved him well," he said. "And people dare call you brazen," he added and looked at his goodbrother. Then, he became serious. "It won't hold them back forever," he said. "But it will give us some time. Now, Jaehaerys, tell us about your mother and aunt and then go to sleep," he added. The boy grimaced, as always irritated when someone expressed care about his poor health. "The day was hard but tonight, I'll sleep better," Aegon added and set himself on listening.

* * *

_Five weeks later…_

"No."

Had it happened two months ago, Rhae and Daella would have been overjoyed. Rhaegar was almost two and it was about time that he started talking. But he kept shouting his first word over and over and the echo flung it against the dark walls and back, chasing them like nightmare.

Not that their life here was so bad. It was just… dark, and silent, and so, so different from anything they were used to. The fact that they needed to work was not so bad in itself but the fact that they needed to obey orders – that was something entirely else altogether. And Rhaelle's pride at actually succeeding in washing their linens almost as she should was quite frightening – it made them feel that they had started to get used to living here, that they could stay here indefinitely. It scared them – a chapterhouse was not a place for children with royal blood to grow up in. Rhae did not want to have a second Naerys on her hands. Not that Rhaelle was ever _quite_ in this particular danger but still.

The lack of news was worst of all – worse than the aching back, the red and tingling hands, the close proximity of each other any hour of any day, the heavy silence engulfing them. They might be widows already without knowing it. The various rumours entering the sanctuary by routs only the Seven knew once had Aegon dead, another time turned into a real dragon… They could not be relied to in the least. And at night, the pain of loss still wrung tears out of their eyes, the tears they had to keep in during the day.

The children reacted in their own way. It was not easy on anybody and Rhae did not delude herself for a moment that it was easy on the silent sisters, as well.

"No," Rhaegar said. "No, no, no."

Sometimes, Rhae wished she could scream that too.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Three months later…_

"I can't believe they actually complied with his request," Duncan said, staring at the sunlight piercing the heavy cloud-washed sky. "All this time, they really didn't approach King's Landing – neither the Blackwoods nor anyone else."

His father chuckled and looked around at the lush forest whispering to them. Even the long winter could not subdue the Kingswood entirely and they would have plenty of grass for their horses when they stopped. Their retainers'mood had gotten considerably better now that they believed they were finally coming home with no more frictions. The ones in charge, though, weren't so sure.

"Would he have really burned the treasury?" Jaehaerys wondered.

"No," Ser Duncan said. "It was just a threat but a convincing one."

"I am not so sure," Ser Ronald Crakehall broke into the conversation, his eyes never stopping looking around for a covert arrow or a sudden attacker. He was now guarding the kingdom's future and this duty pressed him heavily – it showed in his gaunt face and tired eyes. But he sat straight as ever, his whole manner bespeaking careful attention.

"What?" Prince Duncan asked and laughed. "You think he'd really have burned it all?"

"That might have been the best outcome, Duncan," his father said, obviously not liking it one bit. "The treasure, as little as there is left of it, should not fall in the Blackwood's hands. In no one's hands, actually. Never mind the price."

Aemon gave him a look of approval and Aegon felt ridiculously proud. During all their travels where they had talked, threatened, and coerced their way into making allies in all those who were now divided in their loyalties after Maekar's death, Aemon had always been collected, convincing and in his discreet way, the soul of their negotiations, although he was very careful not to reveal himself as such. He was so eloquent that some of the disgruntled lords ended up thinking of him as their protector. Aegon couldn't, didn't want to think what would have become of the Targaryen cause without his brother's interventions.

"He is one who really wouldn't think about the price," the Kingsguard said. "I remember him when he first came to King's Landing. Even then, he did whatever he had in mind and never thought about the price… and that was where he was a battle prize, a little more than a slave, actually, and a child at that. He'll die defending the treasury if need be."

"Really?" Aegon gave him a look of surprised interest. "He was a captive once? I never knew."

"He'll tell you his story himself. And I don't know that much about it anyway. I first saw him when he was paraded at Lannisport as a part of the crew of a pirate's ship that got destroyed when attacking one of our own ships. The court happened to be at Lannisport at the moment. I was the Hand's squire back then… Your lord father begged His Grace to let the boy serve him as one of his attendants and he agreed, despite the Queen's objections. The boy never strayed far from the Prince's side. Maekar's Shadow, Prince Baelor and the others called him because he slept in the Prince's antechamber at night and padded behind him like a cat by day." Ser Roland's eyes were distant, turned to a past time, a better time. "I remember that in the beginning, I used to wonder what his name was," he added in a while. "You know, he couldn't speak Westerosi."

Aegon stared straight ahead even while the boys started firing questions at Ser Ronald. They wanted to know more about their grandfather's youth, about his participation in the Blackfyre Rebellion, everything. Their youth healed the wounds of loss. The memory no longer hurt with the previous intensity. Now, they wanted to know all about Maekar, that was their way to keep him with them. Aegon, though, did not want to think about his father right now. He needed to focus if he were to preserve the kingdom that Maekar had died defending. As always, the biggest threat were the Blackfyres. Three of Daemon Blackfyre's sons still lived, as well as Bittersteel, as ailing as he had become in the last fifteen or so years. _He'll outlive all of us to cause troubles for all of you_ , Maekar had often said. Actually, this was probably the only thing the three of them had ever agreed on – Maekar, Aerys, and Bloodraven. They needed to make a quick organization of their power and resources before the Golden Company could finish _their_ preparations and treaties and land at their shores to deliver the next wave of destruction, weeping and doom.

Now more than ever they needed to present an united force, yet here they were, relying on an old man to keep the treasury from the grasping hands of various lords and die defending it if he must.

It was pathetic. Revolting. Shameful.

It was reality.

"Faster," Aegon snapped and spurred his horse. The others followed, vigilant of any attackers, for they had long ago disbanded their army. Because they could no longer feed it.

* * *

_At the same time…_

"No!"

Rhaelle was pacing through the open galleries, having just come back from the roof where she had roamed alone in the cold, looking around and waiting in vain for a courier of her father's coming with the news that it was safe, that they could go home now. It was so long since they had come here. She had not set a foot outside of this blasted gate and there were no indications that she would do so soon. That drove her mad. She wanted to scream and stomp her foot until she was allowed out. Not that her mother would be moved. Rhae didn't care at all how her children felt, she only wanted them locked here, away from the world, safe from a threat that existed in her feverish mind alone. When Rhaelle tried to talk to her, she got angry and told her not to be such a child. She was cold and determined, worse than the silent sisters because… well, she was Rhaelle's mother. She was supposed to nurture her, not torment her here, in this living hell. Within these windowless confines, Rhae had started seeing things in the darkest corner of her cell. If she didn't leave soon, she'd go as blind as a bat!

The snow was falling softly, sparsely, but steadily. The flagstones had become slippery and she yelped when she fell with a thud, barely managing to turn her head aside, so she did not land on her nose. Immediately, blood started trickling down her temple. She wiped it angrily.

"I cannot stay here any longer. What are we, prisoners?"

"Prisoners," Aemon said, liking the new word. "I like prisoners."

His sister whirled and glared at him. "No, you don't!"

"You don't," Rhaegar agreed. "No."

Rhaelle smiled a little through her scowl. "Now, that's a smart boy," she said.

Rhaegar looked horrified. "No smat," he declared. "No, no, no. No smat. Stuuuupid."

Now, Rhaelle burst out laughing. Alaenys joined in.

Rhaelle grabbed the little boy and spun him around before giving him a noisy kiss. He laughed in delight. "Come on," the Princess said, her mood slightly better now. "Let's hand them back to Aunt Daella."

By the time they reached their confines, Rhaegar's laughter had turned into an incessant wail of _No,no,no_ -s when he realized that he'd be forced back inside. Rhaelle literally threw him on the bed and strode out, shaking with fury. "He is insufferable," she declared. "They all are."

"Well," Alaenys snapped, driven, not for a first time, to some open insolence, "I'm sure I've heard the Princess your mother saying the same thing about you, my lady."

They glowered at each other and hurried to take care of their other duties. It was already longer than a month since the last time any of them had fainted or screamed when they were forced to assist the sisters in preparing corpses for funeral. Alaenys did not even have nightmares about it anymore – now she went a heavy sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. The strange thing was, no longer how long she slept – and she did sleep long, for saving candles was a must in the chapterhouse, - in the morning she was always exhausted and rousing from sleep was always trying. It was this way with the Princess, too, as if they wanted to sleep through as much of their lives here as possible.

The chamber where they removed the organs was icy. The girls fastened their cloaks more tightly. Their breath was coming in small clouds of puffs. Alaenys' shoe, still slick from the snow outside, slipped and she fell, reaching instinctively for something to steady herself. Her hand found the heavy table and grabbed the huge piece of cloth covering it. The corpse they would embalm this day fell down and crushed her, like a man crushing a woman under his weight in bed, like her huge husband had crushed her child's body once. The dead eyes were right over hers, the gaping mouth was choking the breath out of her. She screamed and screamed while they were hastily removing the dead man. She screamed and struggled against the restraining hands while they were hauling her up and applying potion to her bloodied knees. She screamed, breaking the sacred silence in the chapterhouse and causing questioning looks and heads peering in until she no longer had voice to scream with.


	7. Chapter 7

_Three months later…_

Rhae woke up to someone shaking her shoulder. A moment later, her sister's pale face emerged from the faint light of the only candle she held in her hand.

"What?" Rhae asked, sleepily. "What is it? Do I need to get up already? Is it time?"

"No," Daella said. "I am sorry for waking you up. It's just that… I think I'll give birth any moment now."

As tired as she was, Rhae was all awake all of a sudden. "Are you sure?" she asked, cautiously, as not to scare her sister off. Daella herself knew that it was too soon, that she still hadn't entered the last month of her pregnancy… "Sometimes, women have pains for weeks before the real labour starts," she added hopefully, trying to sound encouraging. "I was like this with Rhaelle."

Daella shook her head, trying to contain the horror that had been building in her heart for the last month, the fear that she'd die here, in the birthing bed, along with her child, and Rhae would be left here, alone, guarding the children. The terror had reached a pitched level in the last hours, while she had been trying to convince herself that she had not gone into labour. "No," she breathed. "My water broke up. I am starting to give birth."

There had been no confinement, no grand preparation but Daella would not have planned for those anyway. Her first child had died weeks before the birth and she still remembered the stench of the rotting little body she hadn't been allowed to see; her second had strangled himself into his cord minutes before birth. She didn't want ceremonies, she just wanted a healthy baby… and some proper care. There was no maester here, no midwives. Just Rhae and the silent sisters who knew much about dead bodies and next to nothing about caring for living ones.

Rhae helped her sister lie down, then went to the door and popped her head into the adjacent chamber. "Girls," she said. "We need some clean sheets. And hot water. Lots of hot water."

* * *

_The next day…_

Pale and dressed in red and black, Aegon came back from his everyday ride, impatient to go back to his own rooms, as far away from the tension and silent question in the streets, the same streets he had passed hundreds of times, the streets that had been full of people when he had returned from Dorne at the end of his exile, all those years ago. People had cheered him then; now their silence was palpable as he rode past, one of the men who held their future in his hands, one of the pretenders for power, one of those who could make them bleed once again if he decided to uphold the claim he supported by the power of weapons… whatever this side was.

In the Red Keep, many of the servants had run away in the first tumultuous days after Maekar's death. It looked eerily, abandoned. For a moment, Aegon paused, looking at the officials hanging banners in preparation for the Great Council, the quickly named gathering that had been the compromise they had reached. The most powerful lords of the realm would gather and decide who would wear the crown of the Seven Kingdoms, what should be done with the succession. The looming war had been prevented, for now. If they could reach a peaceful decision, Aegon would thank to the Seven heartily.

He entered his chambers and headed for the table in his solar, where his dinner was served. Of course, it was cold – the kitchens were so far away that food often arrived cold, let alone the fact that with the recent shortage of servants, the inhabitants of the Red Keep had reached something like a silent agreement: food would be served when someone had a minute to spare, or not at all. Aegon had started meeting various members of his household, as well as his father's household, in the kitchen when they were so hungry that they could not wait and went there to snatch something.

"Well?" someone asked. Aegon almost jumped. "How did it go?"

"You really need to stop doing this!" the Prince exclaimed. As used as he was to servants and handmaidens moving noiselessly, he was always quite startled when he actually didn't hear a whisper of someone's coming.

The older man did not look all that impressed. _Of course! Father must have told him the same thing about a hundred and two times._ "So?" Ser Galend asked again. "How did it go?"

"We're making some progress here," Aegon said, not quite convinced. "We all agreed that if the crown passes to Rhaegar, a Regency Council should be formed."

Ser Galend grimaced. "A bad idea," he warned. "A very bad idea, this is."

Aegon paused. The knight's words only served to confirm his own reservations.

"So, that's why Lord Blackwood looked so smug today," Ser Galend said. "A shame it is that your father imprisoned Bloodraven. He would have dealt with his family's ambitions months ago."

Aegon sighed, reminded that the former Hand still remained in the black cells, thrown there by Maekar for a crime that existed in Maekar's head only. Maekar had blamed the sorcerer for Queen Aelinor's death when he must have known that it was not so, that the only one to blame – if such a blame should be laid at anyone's feet – was Aelinor herself. "I tried to make my father see reason," he said. "He wouldn't listen."

"He wouldn't listen to me either," Ser Galend agreed. "And here we are."

Aegon looked at him curiously. "What did Lord Blackwood tell you?" he asked.

"Oh, he didn't speak to me at all. He just cocked his head and marched off as soon as he saw me. I'm starting to think that the man dislikes me somewhat."

Now, Aegon laughed heartily. He could easily see why his ever so morose father had kept Ser Galend around, preferring him to all others. The man's dry sense of humour and caustic and truthful language was just the kind that would make someone like Maekar brighten. "I can't imagine why," he said and then became serious. "Ser, you've been with my father for a long time. I've heard that you've been in his entourage for years before the Blackfyre Rebellion."

Ser Galend nodded. "For eleven years, if you count the two I spent in captivity. I came into his service when I was twelve. Yes, I served him for years."

"So you were around when my brothers were born."

"Yes, I was."

Aegon took a deep breath. "Do you think Rhaegar is mad?" he asked. "Like Aerion was? I think he was mad and cruel even in my oldest memories but I cannot be sure."

Ser Galend did not hesitate. He had obviously given some thought to the matter. "I think it doesn't matter," he said. "I think that we can't wait to ascertain his condition, whatever it turns out to be." He paused. "And I know it was not your father's wish for Rhaegar to ascend the Iron Throne, either way. He just let the matter to rest for a while because after the Queen's death he knew he wasn't able to think clearly. But he still intended to change the succession. The Targaryen madness is something that cannot be predicted but my lord wanted to eliminate the most immediate threat of its recurring. Personally, I don't believe the Prince is mad. But the Great Council must be convinced that he might be. And in fact, we don't _know_ either way."

Aegon listened to him silently. What they were talking about was against the laws, against what was considered right and just. They were talking about disinheriting a child on the basis of fear of how he _might_ turn out. That could not be right, yet upholding Rhaegar's right might soon lead to plunging the Seven Kingdoms into a bloody war once again, even if he turned out to be sane.

"You think we should offer the crown to Aemon," he finally said, tired of pretences and ambiguity. This was the best solution. If someone could make this kingdom run, it was his cool-headed brother.

"No," the old man said and gave him a piercing look. "I don't."

* * *

_A day later…_

_The sun should not set over a labouring woman twice._ Who had said that? Some of the handmaidens, maybe. Rhaelle flicked her hair aside and decided that her state of mind was taking a decisive turn for the worse if all she could think about was the question: whom had she overheard saying it?

The sun had already set twice over Daella, and there were still no signs of the child being born soon. In their calm, effective way the silent sisters had provided a midwife and a maester - where from, Rhaelle had no idea – and gone on with their usual business. Rhaelle and Alaenys now greatly wished that they could also go on with the usual business with the same calm acceptance that sometimes, things happened and women were born to suffer all the way through their children's births. Even embalming corpses would be preferable to the sight of Daella's white face and swollen body contorting in impossible positions while she was biting her lips and trying not to scream. Rhae was trying to keep the girls as shielded as possible but the truth was, they needed their help with bringing hot water, changing the soiled sheets, and helping Daella walk. At one moment, Rhaelle had felt her aunt's belly actually shaking and bumping into her own side. _I'm never having children_ , she vowed as she paced around the meticulously kept garden with Alaenys, feeling like a war veteran.

Suddenly, the Blackfyre girl caught her by the hand. "What was that?" she hissed.

Rhaelle strained her hearing, heard nothing. "I don't hear…"

"I'm telling you that I just heard a noise!" Alaenys hissed again. The months of shared imprisonment had finally brought down the wall in rank and family loyalty; they all needed each other if they were to survive with their sanity intact.

They tiptoed to the building and were just about to slip back inside when Rhaelle's nails bit into Alaenys' hand. "You were right," she murmured. "There is someone… quick!"

They barely managed to remove themselves from the door and crouch when a tall frame hurried past, not even looking around, his cloak billowing. _Billowing?_ There was no breeze this night. Certainly not enough to billow the cloak this much.

He was carrying something. While the girls were still trying to decide what to do and Daella's screams from inside drowned every other noise, he headed straight for the gate that was left ajar – now they saw it.

And then, a sudden cloud shifted, revealing the moon – and a flash of what the man was carrying. Rhaelle gasped. All of her mother's warnings, all of her aunt's fears, all that she had ridiculed and dismissed now crushed over her in full force; without thinking, she rose and whispered to Alaenys, "Go! Call someone!"

She ran after the shadow, intending to jump him from behind. Taking him by surprise was the only chance she had – he was twice as tall and thrice as wide as her.

All of a sudden, Daella's next scream was cut off, as if by a knife. Startled, the man looked back over his shoulder, right at Rhaelle. And cursed.

She lunged at him, trying to pull Rhaegar from his arms. He casually swiped at her with his right hand and she fell to the ground, the world turning red with pain. Through the cloth in his mouth, the little boy whimpered.

Rhaelle spit blood and drew herself to her feet but the man was already running for the gate. There, a dark form stood, trying to pull the latch down. Alaenys! The man approached her but she grabbed the iron spike that lay nearby – she needed to hold it with two hands, it was so heavy – and pointed it straight at his face. In the brief moment he took to assess the new situation, Rhaelle came down on him again, kicking and biting.

"Pull back!" Alaenys cried and aimed a kick at the intruder's head. "Pull back, so I can hit him!"

Rhaelle tried but the man seemed to know that she was his only defense – she and Rhaegar, so he constantly put one of them between himself and the spike. Finally, Alaenys threw her weapon aside and started circling them, preventing him from rising and stepping on his hands and arms at each chance. He grunted with pain and grabbed her foot, trying to trip her up.

Suddenly, a shining blade found its way to his forehead. "What's going on?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "Why are you fighting the women? What are you doing to the child?"

"He's trying to abduct him!" Rhaelle cried and lumbered to her feet, then leaned over to grab Rhaegar who clung to her, sobbing, his eyes wide, his mouth forming a constant 'No, no,no!'.

Alaenys also scrambled to her feet and looked over her shoulder at the gate that was now wide open. It was a good thing she hadn't managed to latch it on!

"Thank you… for your kind help," Rhaelle splattered through her thorn mouth. "How…?"

Between fearful looks at their enemy who was lying on the ground with the sword still touching his forehead, she saw that their savior was actually a boy, no older than Duncan, dark-haired, broad-shouldered and… utterly confused at what he had just taken a part in. He inclined his head and Rhaelle approved, since a gallant bow would take his aim away. "My lady," he said. "I am Robar Baratheon. I was on my way to King's Landing to take part in the Great Council since my father fell suddenly ill and summoned me."

"Very well," the Princess said. "As for me, I am Rhaelle Targaryen. Now, if you'd be so kind? Stay here with this villain until we bring some rope to tie him down."


	8. Chapter 8

_Three days later…_

The boy was waiting for him in the solar when he returned from the session for today. Duncan and Jaehaerys sat on both sides of him, offering him roasted meat and showering so many questions on him that they effectively kept him from eating. At Aegon's enter, he rose and bowed, still chewing the last mouthful he had managed to stick in his mouth during the questioning. However, he waited until he swallowed it before saying, "Your Grace."

"This is Robar Baratheon, Father," Duncan presented him. "He brings us some news from Mother."

Aegon immediately perked up, his exhaustion replaced by enthusiasm and then anxiety. As of last, his communications with Rhae and Daella had been cut off, since they didn't dare entrust anything of importance to ravens. Still, the fact that this Baratheon was the courier… what could that mean?

"We are having a new cousin," Duncan announced. "She doesn't have a name yet. Beauty, Rhaelle calls her."

 _Rhaelle would_ , Aegon thought as he broke the seal. No doubt his daughter was thrilled to have another girl in the family. In the last generations, House Targaryen had begun running heavily to boy children, so that made a nice change, even if Daella's girl would not be a Targaryen by name _. Still, isn't it too early?_ He couldn't remember when Daella had been expected to give birth but it wasn't something that was expected too soon.

Rhae's words were very guarded, still he had no trouble reading between the lines. Obviously, the newborn was so tiny that they were all scared for her life. And then he reached the part that really made his skin crawl. He could only think of one person, one House, one fraction that would benefit most from having Rhaegar in their possession.

He looked at the blue-eyed youth. "Sit down and eat. Tell me what you know. And don't worry about talking with your mouth full."

The boy did need the nourishing. He seemed to have had no more than a few hours of sleep in just as many days. His face was gaunt, still it was clearly exhaustion and not frail health, if his appetite was anything to go by. Between mouthfuls of venison and Dornish red he managed to relay all that had happened coherently enough for Aegon to reach some conclusions.

"Her Grace also told me to give this to you," Baratheon finally said. "She was adamant that I show it to no one else. We found it on his person when we searched him." He decided against mentioning just how uncomfortable Princess Rhaelle and Alaenys had been, searching the bastard's person because, of course, they didn't have any male servants with them and whatever they found, they preferred not to entrust to Robar's entourage.

Aegon, his sons, and Ser Duncan all gathered around the brooch Robar now held out, the ravens surrounding the weirwood.

They were now really, really at the brink of a war. The very slim chance of having Rhaegar enthroned had just dissolved into nothing. The Blackwoods would never leave them alone. They would always try to influence the boy.

At least, they now had ally. The whim of fate that had sent Robar Baratheon passing by the chapterhouse of the silent sisters just when he had, had bound him to their cause.

"Very well," Aegon finally said. "Describe the man in detail – as much detail as you can recollect."

They needed some good ammunition.

* * *

_An hour later…_

"It was a close call," Ser Galend sighed. "If the girls hadn't ran outside… if this boy hadn't passed by just then…"

"It was," Aegon agreed. "We need to resolve the matter fast. I'll talk to Lord Blackwood now."

"And then we should have the Council elect you King," Aemon said, kindly.

Aegon shook his head. It was already throbbing in pain. "I am not quite sure…" he said, reluctantly. "After all, Rhaegar _is_ the next in line. We are talking of robbing a child and stealing his throne. The fear of madness – yes, I understand. But I'll be more uncompromising than Father ever was – and that's saying something! I don't want even to think about Grandfather."

"That isn't true, Your Grace," Ser Galend said firmly. "They were both uncompromising when they had reason to be – for the Seven Kingdoms, the realm that your great-grandfather nearly ruined and they rebuilt. That's your duty and your first consideration. It isn't as if we are leaving the boy on bread and water. We are just striving to lead the kingdom through the perils we are facing."

Aegon stood up, went to the writing desk, stared at the blotting paper as id he expected to find some meaning in it. Behind him, Aemon and Ser Galend shared a look. Now, after narrowly avoiding an uprising of all malcontents, with Blackfyres as close a threat as ever they needed to have a leader with the authority of king, not regent, even if Rhaegar turned out to be safe, and that could only be Aegon.   His taking the throne was the best course. He was well-loved by the smallfolk and respected by most nobles. He already had a family, three sons to safeguard the succession and the perspective to have more with his still young wife who was his sister, in the old tradition of the dragons. No other House could seek their advantage through kinship with the Queen. He had taken part in enough battles to ease the minds of those who abhorred the perspective of ending up with another Aerys on the throne. For all his makings, Aemon would still have to start anew.

Aegon was the best choice, the obvious choice.

The price was just committing an injustice.

He was not willing to pay it, but pay it he must.

He turned to the others, his face a picture of stony resolve. "Send for Lord Blackwood. Immediately."

When the old man entered Maekar's private study, Aegon immediately saw that how sure he was that it would be _Aegon_ who would capitulate. It was clear in the self-satisfied smirk on his face, in the almost offensively shallow bow that he made.

But he had it all wrong. Aegon smiled, all friendliness. As of late, he simply wore the Targaryen red and black, but for the occasion, he had donned a cloak with his father's personal sigil, the four three-headed dragons roaring scarlet rage. The crown of black iron and gold was lying on a side table, as if they had forgotten to take it back at its place.

"Your Grace has called for me," Lord Blackwood said. "I am waiting to hear what you have to tell me."

"You lost," Aegon said bluntly.

The man actually smiled, caustically. "I never lose!"

"So, now will be your first time." Aegon sat behind his father's desk and patted the papers on it that, in fact, had nothing to do with Lord Blackwood before going on. "Your attempt to abduct Prince Rhaegar has been thwarted. The boy is now safe. In fact, I've sent guards to secure my family's safety there, for I can no longer rely on the silent sisters for this."

The man's smile disappeared. "What? I've made no attempt. You've been misled…"

"Have I?" Aegon asked, icily. "The perpetrator was described to me in detail, my lord. And the description fit Ser Ballard of Ravenscar who's the captain of your household guard. We got three of his accomplices," he lied. "And we took this from him." He showed the brooch to the man before taking it back to the drawer.

Lord Blackwood smirked. "And who can say that this isn't a fabrication, something done specifically to compromise me? It isn't as if I am the only one who can commission such a pendant."

Aegon didn't move from his chair. Quire intentionally, he hadn't let the man take a seat. "Of course it isn't," he agreed politely. "I am just wondering who the Great Council would believe."

Here it was – the slight twitch of one eye. It was there barely a moment before disappearing but Aegon had seen it. The sign that Lord Blackwood was not as composed and sure of himself as he would like to look, the telling cue that he was afraid of the other lords. They had accepted Targaryen rule once because of the dragon might – but they would never accept one of their own, and not a Lord Paramount even, to rule over them. The very fact that he had tried to spirit the boy away to force the remaining Targaryens' hands was enough to doom him, even without a firm proof. By now, everyone had become so desperate for peaceful succession that no one who had been caught trying to break it could escape with his life and properties unscathed. Somewhere along the way, the Great Council had really taken all this talk about stability and reconciliation seriously.

Aegon stared at him hard. By the gods, how he wished that Aemon could be here, with him! But they had agreed that it would not be wise. "House Blackwood had always been loyal to the Iron Throne," he said evenly. "I have not forgotten. I suppose that a small transgression could be forgiven in the name of your family's long service."

A chance… the Prince was giving him a chance. He might escape without the great influence he had envisioned but with his honour, wealth, and person intact.

Aegon rose, slowly. "I will have your cooperation, my lord," he said. "I will have either your cooperation or your ruin. Which one is it going to be?"


	9. Chapter 9

_Three weeks later…_

The men-at-arms stared at each other, stared far away, looked at their feet, and wondered just how much more time could doing the laundry take. Alaenys understood their irritation, but well, she was the one who was actually doing said laundry, so she had little sympathy for them as she toiled under the merciless sun, the summer that had overcome them all of a sudden. After all, they had only one task: to guard the royal women and the Blackfyre girl from anyone and anything that might wish to do them harm.

Last week, the well at the chapterhouse had had a sudden, urgent need of repairs, so they needed to bring water from the outside and go to do the laundry at the river. Today, it was Alaenys' turn and she did her best. Her fingers were already freezing and bleeding from scrubbing the garments but the cold water killed the pain. When she brought her hand to her face to smoothe away a lock that was going into her eyes, she realized that her fingers were so numb that she couldn't actually move it. She absently wondered how Princess Rhaelle was doing in the garden, with her damaged fingers. A few days ago, it had been Rhaelle's turn to do the laundry…

On and on she scrubbed and counted her blessings that silent sisters' garments were grey. She couldn't imagine what she would have done, had she been forced to wash _white_ robes.

"What's this?" one of the men asked. Everyone looked, including Alaenys who barely managed to rescue some linen from swimming away when the snake at the horizon turned into a line of horses before her very fascinated eyes.

"Come on," another man said, urgently. "We must take you back to the chapterhouse."

The girl shook her head. "Come on," the man said again. "It might be dangerous."

It might very well be. They had no idea who this was. It might be the same lord who had tried to abduct Prince Rhaegar. Hell, for all Alaenys knew, it might be a new King coming to put an end to all the remaining Targaryens, unchoosy at to where they had been born on the right side of the blanket or not.

Still. The sight was magnificent – a long winding line of men and horses, banners flapping, hooves thundering. It was so colourful. For many a month, Alaenys had seen nothing but grey and she did not want to lose the colours, regardless of the danger she might find herself in. Was this the Targaryen madness manifesting itself? Like with that vile Aerion? Alaenys had had a close run-in with this one and had almost had her hand broken. Only the timely arrival of the King had saved her. She had thought that Maekar was the most beautiful human being in existence, then. She had almost told him so.

Aerion had had no idea of his own limits. Was the same thing happening to her? No. Of course not. She was merely… curious as to what was going on.

When the line came nearer, she gasped, recognizing the huge beast on the first banner, recognizing the man under it. "Come on," she called to the guards. "We're leaving."

"It was about time," one of the men muttered and another assisted her to mount – so clumsily that Alaenys would have done better on her own. She did not say a thing.

When she rushed in the chapterhouse like a sudden wind, Princess Daella opened her mouth to ask what was going on. Prince Aemon ran after her, calling for her to stop. She did not – she ran into the second chamber where Princess Rhae sat, rocking the babe.

"Your Grace!" she cried breathlessly. "Your Grace, the King is here. He's coming for you. I saw the banners, I saw him. He's coming with a huge retinue. Your King. King Aegon!"

Rhae rose all of a sudden, her face losing its entire colour. She could not believe it was over, that the terrible waiting was now behind them. Could Aegon really be the King now? Could he be coming for them?

"Rhaelle! Daella!" she cried. "Boys! Come here. Come here at once!"

Little Myara who had started to dose off woke up and her little face crunched up. Rhae rocked her before she could start crying. "Oh Mother, I scared you, didn't I? I am sorry, precious. But it's a good thing happening here, my love. Your father is coming, too, you know? If Aegon is, so is he. Don't cry, Myara. We're so very happy. Be happy, yes?"

She hugged Rhaelle with her free arm, then pushed her aside and told everyone to make sure they looked their best. It was a hard thing with the limited water they had but when the trumpets sounded in front of the chapterhouse, breaking the sacred silence, they were all in the courtyard, along with the silent sisters, waiting to greet their new King.

 _He's so changed_ , Rhae thought. The last months had obviously taken their toll of him, as well as them. He was now gaunter, his face sterner. Around his mouth, there were lines of insomnia that she hadn't seen there before. Still, he looked every inch the King, in the magnificent mantle of state in red and black, with the simple golden band on his head. When he was crowned, he'd wear something proper but even now, there was something about his poise and demeanor that told them they were in the presence of a king.

Behind him, Duncan gave the lines of grey-robed women an uneasy look. Jaehaerys, on the other hand, looked fascinated. With relief, Rhae noticed that today, he looked hale and healthy. Then, she caught him winking at Rhaelle and smiled a little. Some things never changed.

Aegon dismounted. The Reverend Mother inclined her head in sign of respect but she did not curtsy and of course, she did not speak; for a terrible moment, Rhae was afraid that Aegon will take this as an insult while it was, in fact, the greatest mark of honour the woman might have given him. The brides of the Stranger did not bow to earthly kings, even dragon ones.

Aegon only nodded and gave her a perfunctory look before his eyes went straight to Rhae. He approached and she sank into a curtsy."Your Grace," she said. The words sounded so strange to her when addressed at him. He was a King now. She had known it was a possibility but it still stunned her.

"My Queen," he said and she almost jolted. He held out a hand. One of the men in his train hurried ahead. On his extended hand, there was another glittering mantle in red and black, with the tree-headed dragon and the white furs lining it. A mantle for a queen, matching the one Aegon himself wore.

Slowly, pointedly, to everyone watching, Aegon placed the royal mantle on Rhae's shoulders. She felt the weight of it, the pressing of his hands on her shoulders. She rose slowly and everyone bowed their heads.

Next, Aegon went to his daughter. His eyes went briefly to her bruised, roughened hands before settling on her face. He smiled at her. "How are you, my little princess?" he asked and she looked down, still unable to believe that all of this was true. And so sudden!

Aemon's eyes were wide and full of wonder. He did not remember his father and he stepped back but did not hide behind his mother and left the man pick him up and smell him. He giggled – it felt exactly like a dog sniffing him.

Daella was leaning against a column of stone. The hard birth still rendered her more helpless than she would have liked. Her beauty was shadowed by the lines of exhaustion and sickly paleness, the veins in her face obvious. Behind her, Alaenys held the babe.

Aegon looked at his sister. A terrible memory suddenly came alive, of Rhae all those years ago when they had been forced to _carve_ their fourth child out of her in pieces to save her life. Rhae had looked this frail, this pale for months afterwards, as if the slightest blow of the breeze would sweep her away. But Daella was smiling, albeit weakly.

His eyes moved to the little girl who was not as tiny as he had been led to believe. Her eyes were big and dark, blinking at him curiously, her mouth opened as if she was excited. Aegon looked at Daella again.

"Yes," she said, so low that he was the only one who could hear, "I've got a waistline again… and a new subject for you."

Alaenys looked down to hide her grin. Well, it seemed he hadn't been the only one to hear. He returned Daella's smile and made a step to the baby, took a golden ring with a huge emerald from his finger and touched it to her brow. Daella inclined her head in gratitude – she obviously didn't want to risk curtsying again. Aegon noticed that when Alaenys reached out to take the gift, her fingers brushed his without her paying too much attention. Before, she would have been both embarrassed and uneasy to touch one of their family, for all the kindness they showed her. Something had changed.

"I'd like to see you in private, my Queen," he told Rhae. She nodded. He let her take his hand and lead him in the building. With the corner of his eye, he saw Alor making his way to Daella and their newborn.

* * *

"It was about time," Rhae snapped as soon as they entered her chamber, shedding the reverence to the King like a cloak she no longer had use of.

He sighed. This was just the welcome he had been expecting, although not the one he had been hoping for. The last months hadn't been easy on either of them and he could say that the marvelous procession coming to fetch her had been the last blow on her already fragile nerves and ever so thin patience. She no doubt imagined how he had been living a life of luxury while she and the children had been toiling here – the look of their hands was quite telling. They _had_ been toiling.

"How long have you known you'd be the King?" she attacked without losing time.

"Two weeks," he said.

She whirled on him, dark eyes shooting lightning. "Two weeks? And you left us here to wonder what to do? You didn't even _write_?"

This was _so_ not going the way it should. "Listen," he said. "Hear me out before we start quarreling. I had no time, really. There were the lords who did not agree with my election, I had to appease the Faith, to make amends with the Blackwoods and so on. All this in secret. I didn't dare let you know what was going on before it was an established thing, with all needed support. Letters can be intercepted…"

 _He looks so tired._ Rhae's anger was gone all of a sudden. She now saw what she had missed in the beginning: the shades of exhaustion beneath his purple eyes, the concern, the aftermath of a process that had left him repulsed, the hint of shame. She sighed and went into his arms, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I am sorry," she murmured. "I know it hasn't been easy for you, either. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"It wasn't," he admitted and held her close. "And I am still not sure whether it was _right_."

She knew what he meant and she couldn't do anything to ease his conscience. Only time could. Only his being a good king would. She went to the table and poured a glass of water. "Would you like some refreshment?" she asked. He nodded.

It suddenly occurred to her how fast they were falling into their father's routine. Queen Aelinor had always kept fresh water in her chambers, offering it to Maekar when he came back after they had spent some time apart. Sometimes, Rhae had overheard parts of their conversations showing that her father had had much more doubts and regrets that he had let the others know. Aelinor had been the one he had confided in above all others, the one he had relied to anchor him and accept him no matter what. Aegon knew that Rhae felt strongly about children being deprived of something that was theirs, yet despite that, despite his own shame and insecurities, he didn't seem to doubt that she would accept him and help him overcome the revulsion caused by the whole ugliness of the succession crisis.

Aegon looked around, finally noticing the austere conditions, the lack of windows, the second bed. His face blanched. "Rhae, how many… how many _rooms_ do you have here?"

"Two," she said. "For all of us. We made the best of it."

He closed his eyes, horrified, imagining all of them crowded in here for months. And Daella had given birth in these conditions? "Forgive me," he said softly. "If it depended on me… I wouldn't have…"

She shook her head and smiled a little. "It wasn't so bad," she said. "We survived, didn't we? And we were safe. Did young Baratheon tell you about the attacker?"

"He did," Aegon confirmed absent-mindedly and sank on the bed without letting go of her hand. Rhae sat next to him. For a while, they stayed together, savoring each other's presence, feeling their strength coming back. They waited until they felt fully restored to come out and greet their court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story. Your interest kept me going. I appreciate it.
> 
> I hope you stay tuned for the sequel. It will be focused on Aegon V's children. I always thought their stories must have been complicated and fascinating, so I'll do my best to do them justice.


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